The warehouse was cold, the kind of cold that got into your bones and stayed there. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging just enough to make shadows crawl across the concrete floor.
Viktor sat on a metal chair, elbows on his knees, blood dripping from his gloved fingers onto the ground in slow drops. The man tied to the pole in front of him was barely breathing now. His shirt was soaked with sweat. His face was swollen, and his fingers were ruined and broken. The more he tried to struggle with Viktor to hide his fingers, the harder Viktor pulled, breaking his finger.
The sock in his mouth was dark with spit and blood.
Viktor stared at him and exhaled deeply. He had asked the same question twenty-three times.
"Where is she?"
No answer came from the man. Only soft whimpers as his lips kept trembling.
Nico stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching without a word. He was used to this scene so it wasn't shocking to him at all.
